


Sweet Defeat

by Berettasalts



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Prideshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berettasalts/pseuds/Berettasalts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slave Set is the Pharaoh's favourite opponent. Set thinks he knows why, and wishes that he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the marvelously talented Egosun's fanart, [here](http://egosun.deviantart.com/art/sweet-defeat-46681483), titled by the same name, and if you've never seen it, shame on you and go get familiar right now.
> 
> Atem is fifteen in this fic, and Set is seventeen, but please note that there is no graphic or mature content between minors in this story. The PG-rating comes from a bit of swearing. I think of Atem as a young Pharaoh because it's a bit more realistic; he would more than likely have been crowned around the age of twelve or fourteen, going by ancient Egyptian societal norms.

It wasn’t _fair._ On days when business promised to be slow and there was no trading to be done, nor trials to be presided over, it was not uncommon for the Pharaoh, after declaring himself bored to tears, to demand a Senet board or some other game to keep him occupied. Often he would play against a member of the council, or one of his priests. On very rare occasions, Atem would call on one of the kitchen slaves, which Set suspected was his way of further dispelling the monotony of playing against the same individuals day after day. Usually, Atem preferred a great deal of variation in his partners. That pattern changed on the day he asked Set, a boy of seventeen, to take the place of his chief advisor after an abrupt exit that left their game half-finished. Set had been one of the slaves holding the game board before his throne, while Atem slouched lazily in his seat and contemplated his options. His red eyes - which would have made him instantly recognizable in any public setting even were he _not_ the Pharaoh - landed on Set and narrowed in speculation.

“You. Slave. You are studying under Ankhnadin, are you not?”

Set nodded. “Yes, Great Pharaoh.”

“Has Ankhnadin taught you the rules of Senet?”

“Yes, Great Pharaoh.”

“Do you play?”

Set hesitated, and shrugged. “Sometimes.” He paused, and remembered to add, “Great Pharaoh.”

“Then you and I will finish this game. Slave Nephiri, come hold the board in his place.”

The girl named Nephiri jumped at being addressed directly, bowed, and hurried to do as she was told. Set rose slowly from his sitting position to his knees. He’d been watching enough of the game to have followed it’s progression, and had seen Atem play enough times that Set knew his gaming style well. It gave him a distinct advantage, more so because Atem knew nothing about _him._ He thought he even knew how he could regain Mahaad’s control of this particular game and possibly claim a victory - if only that would do him any good. The Pharaoh liked games, but the problem for anyone playing against him was that to defeat the Pharaoh in a public setting, even in something as trivial as this, would mean almost certain death. There was no possibility of actually winning. Atem may not be the living god most commoners thought him to be, but he still needed to appear strong before his enemies. Propriety dictated that Atem appear undefeated in public.

Set moved. Atem reciprocated. The lay of the sticks on his next throw gave Set a couple of options, and he debated with himself before sliding one of his pawns around the board's S-shaped curve. He'd seen Atem use this strategy before, and his instinct was to avoid falling into the trap, which would allow Atem to claim both of his pieces. Instead, this move would only sacrifice one. It was possible that he could have saved both, but that would almost certainly make Atem suspicious. If Atem thought he would fall for such an easy ploy, however, he was greatly mistaken, for it went against everything in Set to intentionally throw a game.

His next move had the intended effect of surprising Atem, when Set claimed his first piece - while his advisors were sometimes allowed to get away with testing Atem on occasion, none of the slaves would have dared risk a capture. It was a bold move, and Set stared hard at his hands without daring to look up into the Pharaoh's red eyes, which he could feel burning into him. So much time passed, that Set felt positive that at any moment, he would be escorted from the room and possibly dragged from the palace altogether, with Ankhnadin scolding in his ear every step of the way, going on about decent behavior and proper respect. He'd be told to leave the city by morning, and to never come within twenty miles of the palace again. He scowled. Why should it _matter?_ It wasn't as if Atem was in any danger of losing, and if sacrificing the occasional pawn was such an enormous blow to his pride, then Atem most certainly did not deserve the golden crown that covered his forehead and most of his hair. The gold covering the rest of him was worth probably more than anything in Set's possession, and the crown itself was a glittering thing of beauty, the flaring red hair at the back of his head giving the illusion that he wore a helmet of fire. It was little wonder the people thought him a god, for in his full formal attire, Atem certainly had the look of one. 

The fate that Set foresaw for himself never came, and he could feel the Pharaoh's unspoken amusement in the air around him as he threw his sticks and made his next move. The game progressed from that point with both of them making several more captures, and Atem seemed to have at least accepted that Set had no intention of giving him an easy win. If Atem wanted that, there were plenty of other slaves who would oblige. 

Of course Set eventually lost, but he went down fighting, evading two more captures and making another of his own. He didn’t expect Atem to immediately order a rematch, considering that he’d already won and could hardly expect a different result. There was a vigour in Atem’s gameplay this time around that had not been there before, and a focused intensity that was incongruous with his famously short attention span. The second game did not pass quickly, but ran longer than any thus far as Atem goaded Set several times into springing traps on him, and Set responded by laying more intricate ones.

It was a close game, and the tension in the room was tangible as Atem rose smoothly from his seat at its conclusion and allowed one of his personal slaves to retrieve him for his evening meal.

After that, Atem began to call on Set regularly as his partner - and not just in Senet. They also played Mehen, Twenty Squares, and pick-up sticks, (something Atem had absolutely no patience for, but enjoyed all the same, probably because Set should have far outranked him under normal circumstances), as well as a game Set had never seen before called Hounds and Jackals (the cones and spools they played with were ivory, the gameboard a rare hardwood, and the entire collection was certainly worth more than Set could ever make in a year). Set had his studies in the mornings, but his afternoon chores began to include at least one or two matches in some game or another while Atem’s council pretended they weren’t confused as to why their Pharaoh favoured a slave boy as his opponent over educated men and women. True, Set had shown great promise in his teachings and was a remarkably talented young man, but surely Ankhnadin would be an equal or greater adversary as Set had learned nearly everything he knew from him. Set thought he knew the reason - Atem enjoyed provoking him. He recognized in Set a stubborn and indominable pride that did not easily concede to defeat - and as such, he enjoyed pushing Set to his limits, all but daring him to take a chance and _win_ as he so badly wanted to. Atem was an instigator, and not without a perverse sense of humour. He knew Set would never win a game against him, but Atem seemed to take a kind of sick pleasure in goading him into trying, because Set was too proud to ever reconcile himself to a defeat that was preordained. Atem had sensed that in him, and rather than play for easy wins against those with too much respect for him to ever be offended by losing to him, he preferred the thrill of bullying Set instead.

It grated on his nerves, and Set began to wish he’d never taken Mahaad’s place on that day. After four months, the rivalry between them had grown to epic proportions. The problem was that it was one-sided - Atem was a talented player, and under normal circumstances, Set would have greatly enjoyed the challenge of a worthy rival. But when that rival was the Pharaoh, he could never play to his full potential and most certainly could never eke out a win, as much as it pained him to resist trying.

As the months passed, Atem only pushed him harder, forcing Set into occasionally taking drastic measures to maintain Atem’s undefeated status. Twice he’d deliberately and so blatantly thrown the game that everyone watching surely knew what had just happened, and once he pretended to drop a piece and knock the board aside on his way back up. A scolding on clumsiness from Ankhnadin later, he thought, was preferable to hot oil or the cane.

Set had never had a reason to hate the Pharaoh before. For all his eccentricity, he was a decent man and ruler, beloved by his people and fair in his judgement. He was young, only fifteen, but that was hardly unusual either. By the fourth month of his new routine, not only did Set well and truly loathe Atem in a way he never had before, he wasn’t entirely sure how much longer he could keep up the ruse. Only a sick and twisted man would take such enjoyment out of doing what Atem did, out of forcing Set to swallow his pride day after day. Even though Set was the older of the two, their lives had been very different. Atem had wanted for nothing, and because everything he could desire was his for the taking, there had never been a need for him to _work_ for anything. Set, as an orphan, had been raised under a very different set of rules, which were very clear: If you had no money, land, or position, you worked. If you worked well, you were rewarded, and showing intelligence presented the opportunity for study. Set had worked hard to achieve everything he had ever gained, and had even higher aspirations for himself and his future. Why should Atem, by virtue of being born Pharaoh’s heir, the illustrious golden child and now the Living Horus himself, have easy victories handed to him when Set was clearly the superior player? It wasn’t fair, and it shouldn’t have to be this way. Set knew his thoughts were treasonous and had done his best to conceal them from the council as well as his teacher. If Ankhnadin and his Millennium Eye caught so much as an errant complaint, he was doomed - no matter how much Set would love to give Atem a good kick to the teeth, something he sorely deserved.

If he had a place to go, he’d have pondered the option of leaving the palace by night, and slip past the guards to simply disappear. If things continued at the rate they were going, he would end up doing something he’d later regret - not that there would _be_ a later if it came to that.

“Slave Set.”

He blinked himself aware, taking in his surroundings. He was once again in the throne room - he’d been sent to deliver wine from the kitchens, and had no recollection of dispersing it even though he now stood before Mahaad, who looked amused.

“Great Pharaoh?”

“We’ll play in my room tonight. I have trials to attend to, and no time for distraction today. I’ll expect you after you’ve finished your chores - far be it from me to deny you our ongoing competition.” A bemused eyebrow disappeared under Atem's golden fringe, and the glittering, hawklike headdress the covered his forehead. Karim tittered, Ankhnadin glared, and the rest of the council made no expression. Set swallowed, nodded, and bowed, turning his back as quickly as propriety would allow before Atem or any of the others could catch the disgusted expression on his face.

~  
Set wanted to throw his hands up in frustration. It was impossible - not because he couldn’t win, but because at this point there was simply no way he could not. To lose this game would require him not only going back in time and completely reversing several of Atem's own (monumentally _stupid_ ) moves, but to un-capture two pieces that Atem had trapped him into taking - he’d been blocked on all sides, with no other move to make. This was utterly and completely ridiculous - it wasn’t that Atem was a bad player, in fact he was a very _good_ player - and therein lay the problem, Set suspected, for he was beginning to seriously doubt this situation wasn’t intentional.

Atem watched him from across the board, thoroughly amused. Both crown and God Pyramid lay on a small dressing table nearby, and with most of his gold bands removed as well as his makeup, Atem looked distinctly younger, closer to the age Set knew him to be and less the god everyone thought him to be. He was an unusually small-boned man, shorter than Set had been at the age of tthirteen. And he was smirking - like he knew what Set was thinking, and was curious to see exactly how he’d get out of this.

“I concede.”

Atem’s smile dropped instantly from his face. “Excuse me?”

“I _concede._ ” It was just like Atem to make him say it a second time, he thought, simmering with anger that he fought to contain. “I forfeit the game, Great Pharaoh.”

The confusion slid right into a frown, and Atem looked distinctly annoyed. Set wondered if he’d failed at keeping his tone from sounding snide, and prepared to backpedal and apologize profusely if he had to.

“Don’t call me that. We aren’t in company.”

“Then I apologize.”

A long silence followed, and Set waited to be dismissed. After all, there was no point in playing anymore. Instead, Atem leaned forward. His hand lifted Set’s face, looking sharply into his eyes while keeping him immobile with a thumb and forefinger holding his chin.

When Atem finally released him, there was no mistaking the disgust clearly evident in his eyes. “Fine. You’re free to go. But I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed. I expected more from you, Set.”

Inexplicably hurt and brought up short by the accusation behind the words, Set snapped his head up again and glared.

“No, you don’t, you like playing because you expect to _win_ all the time!” Atem raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Set nearly clapped his hand over his mouth and wished he could take back the outburst entirely, but he’d already come this far. What harm could it do him now to continue? If he was going to die for his impudence, well then, he was already dead anyway.

“I’m _sick_ of this.” He knew he sounded like a whining child, knew Ankhnadin would be appalled at his behavior, but Set found he didn’t care. He was better than this, and he was tired of allowing Atem to play him for a fool. Being Pharaoh didn’t make him any less of a spoiled teenager with a penchant for sadistic games. “I know that _you_ know I’m better at most things than you are. I know that you get some kind of enjoyment out of beating me for the hell of it, when you know there's no _way_ you could beat me in a real game if you weren’t the fucking _Pharaoh_ , if everyone else weren’t afraid to play against you because they believe you’re a - a - “

“Living God?” Atem supplied helpfully. Set nodded.

“Yeah. That. I’m older than you, you know. I remember you from when I was brought to the palace. We both studied figures with Karim, and medicine under Mahaad. I’m much better at figures than you - that’s why I’m the better player. I’ve always been better, but everything comes easy for you because you’re the son of a king, and I’m a slave. But you’re just as human as I am! You - “

If Set could have seen himself once he finally realized what he had said, what he was still saying, he really wouldn’t have been surprised when Atem began to laugh at the comically stricken expression on his face. He continued laughing for a good long while, and once Set’s heart had stopped pounding and he felt reasonably certain he wasn’t about to lose some important part of his anatomy, Atem had recovered enough to explain.

“It’s quite alright, Set. There is no great blasphemy in calling a man what he is.”

“You’re _Pharaoh._ ”

“And also a man,” Atem pointed out reasonably. “Certainly as capable of losing a game as any other. Though, I must say, you’ve managed to make it so nearly impossible that I was beginning to wonder, myself, at my own deification.”

“I’m confused,” Set said, wondering if Atem was still toying with him. “You’re supposed to appear undefeated. No one’s allowed to beat you. You have to know that. It’s impolite.”

Atem shrugged. “In public, yes.”

“What does that mean? People can defeat you as long as it’s not a public game?”

“In theory. In actuality, no one as of yet has had the nerve or fortitude to take that risk.”

Atem’s glittering red eyes met his, and Set felt himself grow warm under the gaze. It made him feel exposed.

“It seems I haven’t been fair to you, Set, and if that is the case, then an apology is owed on my part. It was never my intention to goad you. Actually, it was - but I did so because I had hoped you would retaliate by playing _harder,_ and better. Our rivalry is more than just games to me - you are the first opponent to have pushed me to the limits of my own skill. You play well, and you play _fair_ \- cheating is still cheating even when you cheat to lose, and I abhor cheaters.” Set thought of all the careful manoeuvring he had done to ensure his own loss during some very close games, and bristled. Atem must have sensed the direction of his thoughts, because he clarified himself. “You have only ever behaved as was expected of you, and I can hardly fault you for that. You play an honest game, which is far more important to me than winning.”

Knowing he was being petulant, Set couldn’t stop his scowl. “Easy words, when you can’t lose.”

“I can. I just don’t.” Atem shrugged again. “There were many times during many games you could have beaten me, Set. It’s true that for propriety’s sake, my advisors feel it’s best I don’t lose any games at risk of appearing weak - logic that I’ve never understood, myself,” he said, shaking his head slowly. One hand, bejewelled with rings, rose to push his fringe out of his eyes. “Half of that council is my father’s. Mahaad is nearly twice my age and far wiser than I - who am I to question his judgement? But when it is just them, or just you and me, there is no reason to maintain a pretense that you and I both know is folly. That is why I suggested playing here tonight - I thought, mistakenly, that I might relax you into giving me your best performance. I greatly enjoy our games, Set.”

Set was aware his eyes were wide and his mouth hanging open, and that he must look ridiculous. He’d known Atem for years, and this was a side of him he’d never seen before. Atem smiled, the expression warmer than any he had ever worn before his subjects in the throne room.

“So... you _hoped_ I would beat you? You _expected_ it?”

“I must admit, I’ve also been quite thoroughly entertained by your ingenuity and dedication to losing. If you applied even half of your skill to actually _winning_ the game, I feel certain we’d be far less evenly matched.”

He didn’t know what to say, and Set found himself leaning forward on his hands as all of this began to sink in. As was often Atem’s habit during his more casual days, they were sitting on the floor. Atem had pushed the gameboard side and was inclined towards him, waiting for... something, Set knew, something he was supposed to be saying _(Thank you Great Pharaoh most generous and beneficent Pharaoh your kindness and wisdom knows no bounds, please forgive my thoughtless behavior),_ but still no words came. All this time, he’d thought Atem took some pleasure in defeating him, a clearly superior player, in some twisted display of his power. Instead, it was the opposite - Atem wanted an opponent who _wasn’t_ afraid to beat him. Set found himself sliding forward on his knees, automatically folding his upper body into a throne-room prostration until his forehead touched the floor.

“Forgive me, Great Pharaoh.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Atem snapped, and Set cringed. There was a moment’s silence, while he forced himself to remain still. Every fiber of his being hated this position of subservience, but he dared not raise his head - at least until a gentle hand touched his cheek, lifting him.

“Set,” Atem breathed, the other hand joining his first and caressing the other side of his face, for there was no mistaking that the touch had definitely become a caress. “Seto.”

Set looked up, recognizing the birth name he’d been given, which he'd long left behind to become _Set._ Atem couldn’t pronounce it properly - it came out more as _Set-two_ with his accent, slipping on the last vowel, but he was amazed that Atem even remembered that name at all. Set was the technical Egyptian equivalent of his name, and easier for everyone to pronounce, which was why he had adopted it - but as far as he was aware, Ankhnadin was the only person left who knew that about him - except, apparently, for Atem, who clearly remembered him and seemed to know him better than Set ever would have guessed, and whose apparent obliviousness he was beginning to suspect was little more than a ruse, designed to keep people guessing about him. He raised a hand to grasp Atem’s left arm as the hand continued to pet him, staring up into the golden sun of his face. He really was exquisitely beautiful - how was it that Set had never noticed before?

“Pharaoh?”

Atem didn’t scold him this time, though he did guide Set gently to his knees until they were at even height - relatively, since on his knees Set was still almost a full head taller than Atem.

“You don’t belong on the floor,” Atem told him firmly, and leaned towards him to press their foreheads together. Atem's hand brushed wayward strands of dark brown hair out of Set’s eyes. His heart pounded harder. This was entirely new territory, a game that Set had _no_ idea how to play.

“Concede?” Atem’s voice was teasing, and Set narrowed his eyes.

“Never.”

Atem grinned. “You’ve never made anything easy on me, Set. I don’t expect you to disappoint me now.”

“I won’t.”

Atem nodded.

“Because you’re going to lose.”

This time, it was Atem’s face that wore the comical expression and Set couldn’t help but grin in return. Teaching Atem all about the sweetness of defeat was something Set was greatly looking forward to.


End file.
